


Of Competent Companionship

by TheBigBadWolf



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF!Q, M/M, but q is also kinda oblivious, here have my new obssession, its been 84 years since i've written a fanfic, james bond is smooth, q can be smoother, they're practically already married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigBadWolf/pseuds/TheBigBadWolf
Summary: It's easy. It's simple. They just naturally fit one another.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 19
Kudos: 293





	Of Competent Companionship

**Author's Note:**

> So this wasn't a songfic but I did have a particular playlist on repeat for inspiration. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3xWHjrMmL9gjpTmFOd5PLG?si=q_tnywa6RcyyeVbctmzANQ

It happened after the first time. The first time James Bond was declared dead. The first time that Q had found himself grieving. The first time that everything had been sold off. And the first time that Bond had made a miraculous return. For Q, the hardest part of watching 007 return was witnessing, an otherwise resourceful man, come to grips with having nothing to return to. Of course Q saw to it that MI6 funds were reallocated and Bond was reimbursed the total sum received for the estate sale but that, Q knew, would not return the very few objects and flat that Bond could call home, if he had been inclined to consider any one specific place as ‘ _home_ ’. Even if it was seldom occupied by the agent, it had at the very least been a place to return to, an anchor of sorts. 

So, it happened. If anyone would look too closely at personnel records, which there were limited few with access to the double-oh agents’ records, they would find an untraceable change had been made to that of a one James Bond. Where there had previously been a blank spot for ‘Next of Kin’ there was now a single letter followed by an employee ID number. Of course, no one would be looking too closely, of that the Quartermaster would make sure. 

\--00-- 

“I believe I had said to turn left.” Q had plucked his glasses from his face and angrily wiped at the glass with his cardigan sleeve, he could already feel the headache begin to throb just behind his right temple. 

“There was a hole.” Bond replied curtly as if that was enough of an explanation. 

“You will be scheduled for a round of response training upon your return. As well as field endurance testing.” Q cautioned. 

“It was a big hole.” Bond had offered. “Bloody big one” Bond had set himself to wrestling a maintenance hatch and decided it best to drop the subject entirely. “Sevra has a self-sustained tube system correct? If I can place the bug in the mainframe for the tube system can you work your way in from there?” Bond sounded rushed at this point. 

“I do suppose, if the system isn’t crudely programmed and connected to the entirety of Sevra’s network.” Q hummed and set about his keyboard with fervor. He hadn’t considered accessing the servers via the tube mainframe. His typing came to an immediate halt when the first shot rang out. “Bond. Report.” 

“One moment please.” 

“Bond.” 

Q set about finding any access point he could to get eyes on his agent. The shots became more frequent and closer. Q could find to view point of the maintenance hatch. He waited with baited breath, listening for any indicators whatsoever that could provide him with insight on the current scuffle he was hearing. There were several grunts, of which he could discern the difference between Bond landing blows on his attackers and, thankfully less so, when his attackers would land blows on Bond. In all the fight had only lasted but roughly two minutes. 

“Bond report now.” Q demanded. 

“Two men. Dead.” Bond took a breath. “Kalkbrenner knows I’m here.” Q heard the recognized click of the communicator being switched off. He could have shouted and thrown his keyboard across the room. 

From behind Q he could hear Tanner shuffle. It had been nearly two years since this last happened. M would not be pleased. 

Q took a few grounding breaths and with a few quick keystrokes he brought up the Smart Blood program. Bond’s indicator was zig-zagging through the floor plan. He was on site and most likely running through the maintenance tunnels. 

“R, you’re in command.” Q barked. They only thing they could do now was wait for Bond to play nice again and turn this communicator back on. He had far better things to do than watching a little indicator run amuck about the screen. Q nodded to Tanner and retreated to his office. 

Q sat in front of his computers and focused on his breathing. This mission was meant to be a simple in and out reconnaissance mission. Instead it had found Bond viciously destroying a child sex trafficking ring, blowing no less than two buildings to absolute bits, and an explosive car chase down the German Autobahn. Not to mention the death of an informant that Bond had desperately attempted to keep alive. _Poor girl._ Q thought to himself. It was terribly predictable that Bond would cut communication. 007 was more than likely shot. Q could only wait. After Bond’s third return from death he was more prone to cutting communications when missions went tits up. The problem with that being almost all of his missions went tits up in one way or another. Something only Q had been confident enough to point out to Bond to his face. Even M would keep from mentioning specific topics with agent. Q thought this entirely ridiculous and against the warnings of M, Tanner, and Moneypenny, he never shied away from speaking his mind straight to Bond’s face. Bond, for all that he is, never took any of it with anything less than grace and consideration. Or at least so he would pretend if that be the case. Q thought it more likely that 007 would just tune him out and go wherever it is the double-oh agents go when getting cloudy eyed with any MI6 department head who would attempt to speak to them about any matter of importance.

It wasn’t until nearly twelve hours later that Q had received notice of his bug being planted. He was out of his office and down the steps to the central command desk before R could even indicate that Bond had turned his communication channel back on. 

“You better have a bloody good explanation for that.” Q began weaseling his way through the Sevra tube line mainframe tracing it back to the main servers for the whole complex’s operation. He was slowing taking control of the whole systems piece by piece. 

“Didn’t think you would want to hear the sound of me digging a bullet from my thigh.” Bond had spoken as casually as ever. Q was grateful for his MI6 training. His pause at Bond’s words would have been nearly imperceptible to those around him. He knew however that the bloody wonder that was James Bond would have sensed it over the comm. No matter how impossible that could possibly seem. 

Q regained himself and snapped back. “Well there you are correct. I can scarcely handle your incessant and needlessly vocal disregard for my instructions, without having a headache begin to set in. Your scowling would only drive me to certain madness.” 

It was Bond’s turn to pause. “Have you seen medical about these headaches?” The concern in Bond’s voice was genuine and pressing. 

“I’m in.” Q blew past Bond’s concern. Though M, Tanner, and Eve all alike have lectured the pair on their seemingly ‘flirty dialogue’, as Eve calls it, over the comms, Q was adept at avoiding anything he thought might lead to more than the superficial back and forth they typically engaged in. 

“Q, I really think….” Bond was immediately cut off by the sound of gunfire. Q sighed and doubled down; he began weaving in out of files searching for the exact strain of code he was after all the while adeptly moving Bond through several more close calls. 

By the time Q had the information he needed and Bond was more or less safely on a plane back to London it was well past 6:00 a.m. the next morning. When R had entered the room with that concerned look on her face when she knew Q hadn’t slept for the last 48 hours, Q had simply thrown up his hand at her and logged off the main command station all in one elegant motion. 

Q grabbed his back and packed his laptop away. “The comm is yours R. 008 remains in Russia, 002 is on her way to the Maldives, and 005 is lying in wait in a ditch somewhere near the Indian and Nepalese border. In Sadni if I’m not mistaken.” Q stopped to yawn. 

“And 007 sir?” R took advantage of the pause. 

“On a plane I believe.” Q shrugged and left control to R. He had left a memo up on center monitor of the main command station advising of his next three days of leave. When R read it, she would smile to herself. The betting pool will be abuzz within hours, of that she was sure. 

\--00-- 

Q stretched and yawned; he was basking in the afternoon light filtering across his bed. As much as he enjoyed the adrenaline rush, his position as Quartermaster provided him, Q found that he very much enjoyed bring lazy as well. Q checked his phone and finding nothing of immediate importance he rolled onto his side and contemplated his next move. 

It was nearly 3 in the afternoon and he could go for a good cup of tea and an early supper but he found himself warm and pliant and wanting to stay in bed. All hopes of either options becoming a reality were immediately dashed when his entryway alarm set his phone off. Grabbing the gun below his pillow and heaving out a long-suffering sigh, he debated whether or not to shoot Bond and simply call it an accident. 

“Come now Q, you wouldn’t kick a man when he’s already down.” Q was just past the bedroom threshold when he heard the familiar voice call out to him. 

“I will if he gets blood on my rug.” Q quipped back. He flicked the safety back on and relaxed his shoulders, trying his best for all the world to not throw the gun, at the very least, at Bond's head as he entered the sitting room. “Or the sofa.” Q warned as he watched the bloodied and beaten man aim for the very piece of furniture. 

“Right.” Bond flashed his signature smile and retreated past Q, heading for the bathroom. Q sighed, as it had long since become a habit of his when dealing with Bond, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. He desperately pleaded for his headache to not return. 

“You are aware that there is a perfectly equipped and eager medical team back at HQ who are more than willing to help you with any ailment or injury you might have, yes?” Q snapped at the closed bathroom door. 

“I am dear Quartermaster but I much prefer the exquisite tiling here than the linoleum in medical.” Bond spoke matter-of-factly. 

Q froze for a moment and let his face screw-up. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at Bond's remark or simply put a hole through the door with the gun that was still in his hand. With his next solid breath, he found himself headed back to his room to stash the gun back under his pillow and lay back down. The only logical thing he could think to do was to just go back to sleep and hope that Bond would clean up after himself before he left. 

“You are out of gauze.” Bond was in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the door as if he hadn’t been intruding on Q's peace and quiet. 

Q chuckled and sighed. “At least you had the sense to say so this time.” Bond chuckled at this and Q could hear him shuffle into the room. Q waited.

“Q.” Bond’s was low and deep and there was pause. “Thank you.” Bond had turned and left at that. Q let himself fall back into sleep. He’d never admit to a soul alive of what he had dreamt about.

\--00--

When Q awoke it was nearly 4:00 a.m. the next morning. He softly padded his way to the bathroom, ignored the overflowing trashcan of bloodied tissue and gauze wrapping and went about his morning routine. Showered and feeling better than he had in the past three days, he made his way to kitchen for a cup and tea and some food. He was starving and felt as if he might actually black out if he didn’t eat something soon. 

Halfway through fixing himself a cup of tea he froze. He wasn’t alone. He looked over to the figure on his sofa and watched the soft rising and falls of the man’s chest. Q would decidedly kick himself some other time for having not noticed Bond was still in his flat.

_Two mouths to feed then._ Q had thought to himself. He bustled about the kitchen quietly, considering the options. He was a decent cook but he hadn’t gotten shopping in nearly three weeks and his options were little to none for a decent breakfast. 

“I can be ready in five if you want to eat out.” Bond muffled out from the sofa. If Q weren’t trained otherwise he would have jumped. 

“Give me ten.” Q replied. 

After nearly an hour the pair were ready to leave. Q was exasperated already with dealing with the agent who thought it appropriate to leave the flat in bullet ridden clothes. Not to mention the nearly fifteen-minute argument about their differing style choices. Q could feel his headache blooming and was just barely 6:00 a.m. Bond would be sent out with a single burnt match and a bit twine for his next mission. Q was already practicing the speech he’d give to 007 in front of all of Q branch when he hands that kit over.

Having made it to the restaurant without further disagreement or disruption, they were seated and already awaiting what would be their first of many cups of tea and coffee. Q sipped at his tea, comfortable in the silence that lay between them. This was the routine after all. After particularly taxing missions, upon Bond’s return to London, he would to come to Q. Bond would tend to his wounds in Q’s bathroom, fix himself food in Q’s kitchen, then settle in and sleep on Q’s sofa. Q had only asked Bond about this only once, in the beginning, when it was first apparent that this would become a habit. When Bond shrugged and looked at Q in a way that the Quartermaster would never admit, even upon torture, that had melted his heart, he sighed and let the agent carry on about his business. 

Q knew what Bond’s flat looked like. He doubt it had been yet been unpacked from when Bond’s previously auctioned possession had shown up at his new residences, mysteriously. And that was several years ago. Q empathized with Bond, he would hardly want to return to that himself and couldn’t blame the agent for preferring Q’s flat over his own.

“Deep in thought, are we?” Bond’s voice was low and gentle, pulling Q from the back of mind, forward and into the present. 

“Yes...” Q coughed and sipped at his tea. “Tell me James, what is it exactly I’m supposed to tell M and Tanner upon my return when you’re trailing behind me, three days overdue for your post-mission check-in with HQ and medical.” Q kept is voice low and careful, they were in public after all.

Bond smiled and leaned back in his chair. _Absolutely disarming._ Q thought to himself, and he knew that Bond knew it too. “I’m sure you’ll find the right words Q. You always do.” Bond spoke fondly. Q nearly blushed.

“That may be so but it never prompts you to answer me with any clarity.” Q bit back but with a smile on his face as well. The companionable with was one of the many reasons why Q allowed Bond to walk into his life, personal and professional, and settle himself right in as if he had belonged there all the while.

When their food came, they ate and spoke of weather, and politics, and books, and all the other subjects seemingly normal people would discuss. It was comfortable and companionable. It was healing, though neither would ever admit to it.

\--00--

M had his ways of punishing the agents that pleased the higher up bureaucrats without actually punishing the agents themselves. Bond broke protocol and went ‘missing’ upon his return to London. Though he had been with his Quartermaster the entire time. Bond was more or less confined to HQ for two weeks and was to report to Q branch for weapons testing as most grounded agents are, when they are unable to return to their fieldwork right away.

Q always thought that Mallory might more likely be punishing Q for having not reported Bond’s presence to HQ when the agent turns up at his flat rather than medical post-mission.

The next two weeks would be challenging. It was Q’s second day back from his all too short leave and Bond had already terrorized the entirety of the main command floor and had now moved onto the R&D department. Q stood at the main command desk and sighed, at least he would remain R&D’s problem for a few hours.

Q was well and deep into his work when he noticed there was a commotion outside his office down on the main floor.

R had been, very loudly, arguing with 009 in the middle of the operations command floor. There had been recent budget cuts and the agents were recently being kitted with less equipment.

“I apologize agent but you have not been cleared for that equip. Your current assignment and kit was vetted by M personally.” R held her ground and spoke strongly, though she was two heads shorter than agent she had a way of making her presence seem bigger than any towering agent. Q watched quietly, ready to intercede if need be but willing to let R hold her own. She was strong and certainly needed to be to handle this job. She didn’t need Q fighting her battles for her.

“Just last month 003 was kitted with a fucking Audi!” 009’s voice had reaching near screaming at this point. 

“Your kit is sufficient for your mission.” R bit back, her annoyance seeping into her tone.

“Don’t fuck with me R.” the agent growled. Q tensed the moment R had. This was escalating. 009 stepped closer into R’s personal space and very loudly shouted in her face, “You’re incompetent and nearly got me killed last mission. You aren’t worth the space you take up here!” His face twisted. Q knew what was coming and he gritted his teeth. “I’m sure the previous 003 would share my sentiments!” he jabbed at R’s shoulder. “You will be nothing but a fucking agent killer!”

“Back down agent. You are out of line.” R warned. She wavered and 009 saw it.

“You aren’t work the space.” 009 repeated. “Give me what I asked for R!” he screamed in her face. 

R sighed and at the 009 thought he had won. Q knew better. “Maybe,” R spoke calmly, “If you were a better agent, you’d received a better kit.” R pressed on and pushed back at the agent. “You are disobedient, out of line, and destructive. Agents like are nothing but a disgrace and danger to this profession. You should be less worried about your kit and more worried about your continued employment as a double-oh.” She punctuated her remark with a jab to the agent’s chest. Q saw the temper flare but knew he wouldn’t reach them fast enough.

The very sound of the hit permeated the command floor. Everyone froze, everyone held their breath. Everyone except Q. He was on 009 quicker than any agent could ever move. With a fistful of the agent’s collar in his one hand he reared back and let his other fist connect with the agent’s nose, fully intending to break it and certainly doing so. 

R was crouched holding her face. She refused to cry but the sheer force and resulting pain had brought tears to her eyes. There was already a welt on her cheekbone and thin line of blood trickling from where the skin had split. All of Q branch heard Q snarl as he geared back on the fallen agent and landed another blow straight to 009’s sternum with his foot, resulting in a sickening crack. 

Q was yanked backwards by one of his analysts who was closest to the altercation. He didn’t flail but he was practically vibrating with anger. He struggled from the grip and engulfed R where she sat. Q set about examining the damage and seethed each time a touch made R hiss in pain. Without turning to watch, he knew 009 was currently being manhandled off the floor and dragged from Q branch by security.

R gently pushed Q away and stood, refusing help. She straightened her blouse and jacket and squared her shoulders. Q had then resolved to completing 009 transfer paperwork, leaving him in a pencil pushing position with MI5 as well as R’s raise request paperwork, all by the end of the evening.

Q faced his second in command and waiting for her cue. When she nodded, he return the gesture. She marched off, shoulders still squared and left the Q branch to report to Medical then M. 

“Back to work.” Barked Q. And at that the dull noise of keys clicking and chatter took over the room once again. 

It was already widely understood that Q was a force of his own just as the agents are as well. And there had been incidents in the past wherein Q demonstrated just how dangerous he could be. All of Q branch has witness Q put a bullet between the eyes of what ended me a botched mission of a competitor’s mole. There were several betting pools surrounding whether Q had previously field experience.

\--00--

Q returned to his office once he made sure the branch had returned to normal operating order and started the necessary paperwork. It was a few hours later when he had all the forms submitted and details worked out, as well as a few clever keystrokes to discreetly empty a few accounts 009 could never admit to having, when R had walked through his door and gently closed it behind her. 

She beelined for the couch against the far-right wall and sank into with as sigh louder than Q had ever heard before.

“You handled the situation commendably R.” Q turned his full attention to her.

“You did not.” She weakly smiled at him. “Thank you Q.” Q nodded and handed her a tissue box he had dug out of one of his desk drawers. R let herself cry. “I’m not an agent killer.” She said weakly.

“Never was and never will be.” Q stated. Once R had regained her composure Q sent her home for the day or at least what little more remained of it. And when the remainder of Q branch had mostly cleared out for the night he leaned back in chair and pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“I heard 009 was snapped in half.” A deep and gentle voice sounded from the office doorway. Q didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“James Bond, taking part in office gossip? How novel.” Q laughed. “He crossed R then he crossed my fist.” Q spoke plainly but had let a barely-there growl escape. 

“Shame to see another agent cause such anger in our Quartermaster.” Bond teased. “That, if I’m not mistaken, is my niche.” Bond stepped forward to the other side of Q’s desk looking for all the world casual and at ease while smiling down at Q like an absolute wolf.

“Cross me or mine like that Bond and I will shoot you.” Q glared up but it held no menacing tone or real threat.

“I count on it Q.” Bond leaned his hip against the desk. “Dinner?”

“You’re paying.” Q stood, grabbed his bag and followed the agent out. They had spent the several days since Bond’s return to London like this. Dinners, lunches, and the occasional breakfast. Q did his shopped and Bond tagged along, mostly quiet only providing minimal but companionable conversation. The same occurring when Q spent his leave holed up in his flat tinkering with gadgets he had been working on for some time now. Bond was content to just simply occupy the same space as him and supplying occasional easy conversation. This was, more recently the habit the agent maintained when grounded from missions. Q didn’t mind, Bond had never tried to interrupt Q and it was nice having someone near by to keep him grounded. Too many times had Moneypenny been sent round to his flat because he had been missing for two days, only to be found wrapped up in some project with no mind for time or date. Bond also kept Q fed, which Q would admit he was terrible at doing for himself. 

Q liked to imagine he provided some comfort to Bond in return, the innate human need for contact and close proximity to others would manifest in agents much stronger than the average person. They have been conditioned to distrust and closely scrutinize everyone they meet. Q hoped, at least on some level, he could act as a grounding rod for the agent. A safe place to retreat to when being Her Majesty’s secret agent became all too overbearing. The staff that worked closely with the agents had been trained how to handle the agents when their attentions may focus unwaveringly on someone they found grounding. Q never really paid attention to those training seminars anyways.

Q supposes that he really should have noticed it sooner, but he was so comfortable in Bond’s presence and he knew Bond was certainly comfortable in his own, that he just couldn’t be bothered to think any further of it. And in his defense, he did have a many number of other things to think about at any given moment. So when the pair had settled in to their corner booth side by side at the nice little Italian restaurant Bond had driven them to, and when they had ordered their wine and food, and had settled in to wait, Q had all but come crashing to the ground when Bond grabbed his hand.

“Nasty bruises indeed.” Bond lifted the now swollen and purpled knuckles to mouth and pressed a gentle kiss on them. Q didn’t move, he wasn’t even sure whether he had remembered to breathe or not. His mind took up double time and spun. What happened? “Easy Q, I can see the smoke coming from your ears. Don’t grind those gears too hard.” Bond placed Q’s hand down gently on his leg and patted it, careful of the bruising. Q, without think had flexed his hand. Bond’s thigh was warm and strong, and felt good on his injured hand. 

“James…” Q started. He took a breath, realigned himself and returned. “James, are you sure?” Bond smiled, he so hoped to catch Q off guard but the man was after all a genius. Luckily Bond had committed Q’s initial look of surprise to memory, as he thought that might be all he would get. He bustled a bit at knowing he might be one of the few that had ever caught the Quartermaster off guard.

“Dear Quartermaster, do you doubt my decision-making skills?” Bond smiled, genuine and fierce. Q was blinded by it but didn’t falter. At least not again.

“Always.” Q retorted. They laughed, and when dinner was placed before them, they ate. The two fell into their comfortable ambiance, Q should have been surprised at how easy it was to cross that line. There were occasional hands on thighs and even just before they had moved to get up and leave Bond had reached over, gently laid his hand at the base of Q’s skull and pulled him in close for a chaste kiss. When the left Bond’s arm was wrapped around Q’s waist an after quick snog against the Audi, Bond was speeding off in the direction of Q’s flat. 

Q should have seen it coming, his entire branch had seen it after all. The dance he and Bond did around one another must’ve been absolutely ridiculous looking. Later that night in bed next to a warm and pliant James Bond, Q would flex his knuckles and lament at the pain. 

“Next time you decide to lay waste to a double-oh, at least have the good sense to make sure I’m listed as your next of kin, just in case.” Bond mumbled into Q’s mop of tousled hair. “Reckless boffin.”

Q huffed out a laugh. “Of course, you noticed.”

“The day I came back. M told me everything had been sold as I had no next of kin. When I checked, intent on picking someone, I had seen it was already changed.” Bond ran a trail of kisses down Q’s neck.

“Who would you have picked.” Q looked over into James’ shining blue eyes.

“M.” Bond smiled and they devolved in to a fit of laughter. 

“He’d be utterly lost at you taking the piss from beyond the grave.” Q could hardly breathe. 

When they had calmed, Bond pinned Q down and hovered atop him. With all the care and wonder in the world he engulfed his new lover and kissed him within an inch of life. Q was more than just James Bond’s post-mission grounding rod; he was the agent’s home. And Bond was equally Q’s. 

\--00--

** AFTERWARD **

Bond and Q stood before Eve’s desk, having shown up five minutes early to their meeting with M. 

“Lord help Queen and Country!” Even threw her hands up and considered tendering her resignation right there. She feared what MI6’s newest and most dangerous couple were capable of. The only thing that eased her was watching the color drain from M’s face entirely upon his receipt of the news. She paged medical. This was going result in a company wide memo, she had no doubt. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted a fic where it wasn't slow burn and it wasn't some crashing explosive realization. I pictures something gentle and natural. A simple blur until the line between them no longer existed.
> 
> Please be gentle with me, I haven't written fanfic in SEVERAL years! And after reading through the entire Bond/Q catalog or rather a good 80-90% of it I just felt so compelled.


End file.
